


Good Night, Good Morning

by humorless_hexagon



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Banter, Canon Compliant, Cuddling, Drabble, Fluff, Jokes, M/M, Massage, Mild Angst, Nightmares, Stress, Stupid boyfriends, Talking, Yelling, anger issues, but then angst, cute but sad, fluffy angst?, inability to sleep, night time, or early morning?, precious sons, sitting together, snappy inquisitor, some regret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 06:32:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4009501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/humorless_hexagon/pseuds/humorless_hexagon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes Dorian can't sleep, and sometimes, the Inquisitor can't either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Night, Good Morning

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't been writing as often, and this story idea popped into my head. It's just a drabble that I wrote awhile ago that has gone through several revisions until I was somewhat happy with it. Any constructive criticism would be more than appreciated.

_"I still get nightmares. In fact, I get them so often I should be used to them by now. I'm not. No one ever really gets used to nightmares." -Mark Z. Danielewski, House of Leaves_

Dorian awoke from his nightmares as he always did, shaking and drenched in cold sweat, shivering despite the heavy blankets the Inquisitor had provided just for him. A few moments passed as he tried to regain a regular breathing pattern rather than the quickened pace his fear had set. The awful dream had left him with a pounding headache that seemed to reverberate through his skull. Knowing from experience that sleep wouldn't come no matter how hard he tried, the mage slipped out of his room, dressed in thick night clothes to keep out the chill, and began sneaking upstairs to the library.

While the Inquisition's library was small, many of it's tomes were large and ancient, making them difficult to read. Dorian liked the challenge these books provided and felt that they kept his mind off... other things, his night-terrors for example. Curling up in his worn leather armchair all alone, mind engrossed in an old story, was a comforting thought on its own.

As he ascended the stairs, however, Dorian could see a warm flickering candle light coming from the entryway, looking as if someone had thrown a sentient, golden-yellow paint on the stone wall. Immediately, he slowed down, being cautious as to not be seen by whoever was already in the library at such an ungodly hour. Hugging the wall, Dorian continued with a new found curiosity. It wasn't often that anyone dared sneak around Skyhold so late, and it was even rarer for them to be around the library of all places. After peeking out of the corner, the mage could see that the light was coming from a lamp resting a table by his own chair, where none other than Inquisitor Lavellan himself was sprawled out horizontally across the arms, holding a small book up in the air. The elf always managed to rest in such painfully awkward positions that he found comfortable somehow; Dorian had always found that quirk kinda cute. Somehow the elf was only wearing a loose, thin shirt and the same short trousers he had been wearing all day without freezing to to death. If that man ever got cold it would be a miracle.

"Enjoying the view?" the Inquisitor asked dryly, not even looking up from his book. "If you want I could read an even bigger book; I hear the ladies love that." Dorian flinched at the elf's teasing; he had been caught— not nearly as sneaky as he liked to believe. Trying to maintain a cool facade, the mage jokingly replied, "And where did you hear that? I've been reading huge books for years and all I seem to get is angry glares and 'go back home you Tevinter bastard' thrown my way." He stood in the doorway, leaning his weight against the cold stones of the arch, mentally wincing at his self-depraving attempts at humor.

The Inquisitor turned the page, not bothering to turn his head to look. "We can't all be winners," he shrugged, a small smile peeking out at the corner of his lips.

"Inquisitor," Dorian started to change the subject, "I have to ask-"

"Don't," the elf grimaced, as if he had accidentally eaten something sour. "Don't call me Inquisitor as if it is my name. 'Makes me feel like I'm not an ordinary person."

"According to rumors, you're much more than that," Dorian said quietly, his words coming out more intimate than he intended.

This caught the Inquisitor's eye, and he glanced over at Dorian, pale eyes hard, masking his emotion. "Whoever's spreading those rumors should be careful," he hinted. "I wouldn't want them to get in trouble because of lil' ol' me." The Inquisitor jokingly kicked his feet back and forth in the air like he were a little kid. A soft smile crossed Dorian's features and he visibly relaxed. The Inquisitor's ability to keep everything, from nug wrangling to warfare, in such a light-hearted air was comforting, even if it wasn't very practical.

He teased back, "Yes of course, little you, the Herald of Andraste, who can seal rifts, lead an Inquisition, and could probably take down a giant in your sleep, heaven forbid anything happens to petty gossips." The book the Inquisitor had been reading suddenly soared through the air, hitting the mage on the side of his head with a muffled thump.

"I for one care about the people who are talking about me, Maker knows what they could make people believe." The Inquisitor's minute grin faltered, and he sat up straight in Dorian's chair, feet neatly tucked underneath him as he sat with his legs crossed, "Do you really think that Andraste would choose me, an _elf_ , to save her and spread her word?"

Dorian stepped closer to the elf, hands clenching to fists. A strange tightness in his chest asked for attention, but the mage was only focused on the man in front of him. "I think Andraste can do whatever she goddamn pleases with whoever she deems fit!" the mage said harshly, louder than he intended, causing the Inquisitor to flinch. "Why the hell does race have to matter in the grand scheme of things? It's all so- so stupid!" He knew he was overreacting, but the topic had been debated over and over again by practically everyone under the bloody sun that it was starting to get frustrating. The Inquisitor's happiness mattered more to Dorian than the existence of religious figures; but he didn't give a nug's ass about religion. "The point is," he continued in a gentler tone after taking a few deep breaths, "you're the _Inquisitor_ , people look up to you, you have power. Who cares if you're 'Andraste's chosen' or not? You have everything any man wants! And you, you of all people, deserve that much."

They were caught in a quiet staring contest for a few moments, as if allowing room for each of them to think. "You're wrong," the elf replied flatly after awhile, eyes boring holes into Dorian's mind and branding it with the controlled fury in the gaze. "I never _wanted_ any of this. All I wanted was to be free, but all of this," he gestured around to the library and Skyhold walls, "I didn't ask for. I don't want the power I have, and..." he drifted off, staring at the cold grey ground, hands gripping each other so tightly his knuckles were white. Dorian wanted to hold them so badly, show the Inquisitor that everything would be alright, but he feared that would be overstepping his boundaries, that it would be wrong and Lavellan would be repulsed by his actions and never talk to him again.

So he did the next best thing and used words: "And...?"

"It terrifies the hell out of me."

They remained there in silence for a long while; it wasn't comfortable, but not stifling either. The two had come to a conversational checkmate and were both pondering their next move.

"Is that why you're here so early reading..." Dorian picked up the book that the elf had thrown at him earlier, "... _Sword and Shields_ , really? You wicked man! Honestly, I never took you for one into filthy romance novels."

"Shut up! It's a good story," the Inquisitor hissed, face burning red. "And yes, that's why I'm up here. It's just too easy for me to think at night... Reading fills that space where thoughts come in and I just, I don't know, don't have to think?" Dorian understood what he was saying. Sometimes his own thoughts became too overbearing and negative for him and he blocked it out with whatever he could. The mage supposed that was exactly what he was doing, having a conversation with the Inquisitor rather than thinking about his nightmares.

"Why are you up?" the elf asked in a genuinely curious tone, lightly drumming his fingers against the armrest.

"Nothing awful, 'just had some bad dreams," Dorian answered shyly, focusing on his bare toes.

Pouting, the Inquisitor beckoned for the mage to come closer, which he happily obliged. "Sit on the ground," the dark-haired elf ordered sharply.

Dorian felt awkward by the sudden commands, "I-I uh-"

"Sit." Slightly cautious, Dorian sat in front of the elf, who was now towering over him. Up close the mage could see thin, white scars tracing up his legs and up his side, eventually hidden by clothes. The Inquisitor had explained before that they were from years of being a terrible hunter, which Dorian only partially believed.

"Something on my knee?" The elf asked, leaning over to check his leg. He simply shook his head and scoffed before putting his foot back down. Then, without warning, he put both of his hands on the side of Dorian's head, one behind each ear, and began kneading his fingers back and forth. "

Wh-what...?" Dorian questioned, though thoroughly enjoying this treatment. Instantly, he felt more relaxed and any nervous energy that he had vanished into thin air. It was comforting that they could be this close and not have any awkward feelings or tension- like they had known each other for years rather than merely a few months.

"Ancient Dalish Dream ward," the Inquisitor smiled, eyes closed in focus. "Or at least that's what my sister used to say when she did this to me."

The headache Dorian had earlier had now subsided and a warm sensation had spread through his whole body. Tentatively, he leaned into the elf's touch, practically melting in the Inquisitor's calloused, yet gentle grip. Eventually the elf murmured something about "not getting a good angle" and joined Dorian on the ground, legs crossed whereas the mage was kneeling.

No longer was the Inquisitor massaging Dorian's head, but more combing his fingers through thick, dark hair. He was staring at the mage strangely, as if he were committing the contours of Dorian's face to memory, but unable to do so with solely his eyes.

The surge of want came back to Dorian, rushing through his veins and tingling with energy along his fingers. He longed to hold the inquisitor's hands and wrap his arms around the other man's thin frame and never let go. There was an unbearable tightness in his chest that needed to be released, and the elf being so close to Dorian that they could both feel each other breathe wasn't helping. The Inquisitor was staring into his eyes, pale yellow meeting doe brown in a stalemate. Unspoken words passed through their breath, fading as it hit the other's lips.

Exhale. _I'm scared._

Inhale. _As am I._

Exhale. _What are we going to do, then?_

Dorian could feel the elf's slender hand move through his hair and up to his face, cradling his jaw and tracing his cheek back and forth with a thumb. A small smile poking at his lips, the mage reached his own, larger hand to meet with the Inquisitor's. Words couldn't be used to describe how either of them were feeling.

Exhale. _Would it be alright if I kissed you right now?_

Inhale. _I thought you would never ask._

Hesitantly, the Inquisitor moved both hands to Dorian's face, which was heating up more than he would have liked. The elf, however, didn't seem to mind, and finally returned the sheepish smile. Without any altercation, he tilted his head forward and, ever so gently, left a bittersweet kiss on Dorian's lips. It was mind numbingly adorable in the mage's eyes but far too brief for his taste.

"Was that alright?" the elf asked as he pulled away, not meeting Dorian's eyes, who was grinning lopsidedly. Dorian laughed quietly as he nodded, leaning his head into the crook of the other man's shoulders. It wasn't the steamy make-out session he had been hoping for, but it was sweet and shy and perfect in it's own way. The novel romance he wished for would have to wait until they got more used to each other, and Dorian realized he was surprisingly fine with that.

As the elf sprawled his legs out to be more comfortable, Dorian gently wrapped his arms around the smaller man's torso and took a heavy breath. "Has anyone ever told you that you smell absolutely divine?" Dorian's voice was muffled because his face was still buried in the Inquisitor's chest.

"My sister used to tell me I carried the scent of the forest with me, which could be it, I suppose. Not everyone adores smelling trees and dewy dirt, though..."

A breathy chuckle escaped the mage's lips, "You think too much."

"I talk when I'm nervous," the Inquisitor said with a tone of finality, resting his head on top of Dorian's.

"You have no reason to be. I'm not going to hurt you." "It's not that," the elf frowned, massaging circles into Dorian's back.

"I just- I've never been this physically intimate with someone before. While it is comforting it is also... intimidating."

"The mighty Inquisitor, stopped by no soldier, creature or demon, but quivers in the fear at the thought of cuddling," Dorian announced teasingly, receiving a flinch and a light smack on the head.

"Shut up, it's not that simple."

"Why not?" the mage asked sitting up. "That's what we're doing, isn't it? And you were the one who kissed me just a few minutes ago."

"You don't understand!" Bristling, the elf pushed Dorian away. "You act like it's all a joke- as if it means nothing!"

Dorian's mouth formed a small "o" shape and his heart dropped to his stomach. Although the Inquisitor was a great person, quick-witted and kind, he also tended to be pretty snappish, and was easily offended. Simple comments often put him off much more than anyone else would, sending the elf into unnecessary spite, especially when he was the one to blame in situations.

The Inquisitor spoke quickly, dangerously quiet words laced with venom, "I've never been in love, hell, I've never even really kissed anyone and meant it until you! And you act like its nothing- It's not 'just a kiss' to me. That was special, I thought you were special..."

"Lavellan I didn't think- "

"No, you didn't," he glared daggers into Dorian and stood up, but stumbled a little as he did. "I just... I need to go to bed," he sounded weary, worn from the emotional stress.

"Lavellan, wait," Dorian commanded, grabbing his shoulder. "I messed up, okay? I didn't realize how seriously you were taking this and I panicked." The elf stared at him blandly, as if daring him to continue. "In Tevinter, relationships between two men weren't possible due to keeping a powerful bloodline and whatnot, so you were usually there for the sex then left. I've grown up believing that I would never have something serious with anyone."

The Inquisitor's eyes searched Dorian's face for a few moments, ashen suns hunting for the truth. "I'm going to bed," he said in a hushed voice. "I think we both have a lot to think about."

"Does this mean I get another chance?" Hesitantly, the elf turned back towards Dorian and kissed his cheek with roguish speed before hurrying away. The mage's hand brushed over his face where the Inquisitor's lips had been, causing a small sideways smile to protrude from his lips. Overjoyed, he did a silent happy-dance, congratulating himself on a job well done in the middle of the library.

Dorian didn't stay in the room very long, as the exhaustion from being up at such an odd hour began to wear on his body. Eventually he went back to bed, falling asleep with a grin on his face at the prospect of seeing the Inquisitor in the morning.

And not a single dream of horror or fear dared to haunt him for the rest of the night.


End file.
